Gon's Harem System
Chapter 89: It is better to be feared.

Chapter 89: It is better to be feared.

Thane was just turning to leave, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.

His posture was relaxed, almost careless, with his shoulders slightly slouched and his hands tucked loosely into his pockets.

it was his face that stood out the most, the same bored, superior expression that he always wore.

His eyes, half-lidded and distant, barely seemed to acknowledge the people around him, as if they weren’t worth his attention.

His lips were pressed into a thin, indifferent line, not quite a smirk but close enough to suggest he found everything around him unimpressive.

But if you looked closely, if you focused past the mask of apathy, you would see it, the slight amusement that flickered in his eyes as he watched Gon.

It was subtle, barely there, but unmistakable.

Lord Thane. Gon said, his voice steady but respectful as he greeted him.

"Hello, Gon," Thane replied smoothly, his tone even and unhurried. Then, with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes, he added, "Feeling better already?"

Gon nodded, though he suddenly felt a little embarrassed under Thane’s gaze.

"It was nothing," Gon said quickly, glancing away. "I just needed a little rest."

"I’m sure," Thane replied, his voice smooth, carrying that ever-present air of quiet confidence.

His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, a faint amusement flickering beneath the surface.

Then, with a slow, almost lazy glance toward the door behind him, he added, "Well, I have to go now, Gon." His tone remained calm, unbothered, as if he had already moved past this conversation before it had even ended.

He took a step toward the door, but just before leaving, he cast one final glance over his shoulder.

His gaze lingered for a brief moment, and then, in a voice that was both casual and slightly pointed, he said, "Good luck."

And with that, he turned away, stepping out without another word, leaving behind the quiet echo of his presence.

Gon nodded silently and continued toward the door, He reached out and pressed his hand against the worn wooden surface, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingertips.

As he pushed it open, the door let out a low, drawn-out creak, the hinges protesting from years of use.

The sound echoed faintly in the space beyond, stirring the stillness inside. A cool draft drifted out, brushing against Gon’s skin as he stepped forward, crossing the threshold.

The room ahead was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the floor as he moved inside.

The Duke sat at his grand wooden desk, his posture straight and composed, his hand moving steadily across a sheet of parchment.

The soft scratching of his quill was the only sound in the quiet room, the ink flowing smoothly as he wrote with practiced ease.

His focus was unwavering, his eyes fixed on the words forming beneath his hand, as if nothing else in the world existed in that moment.

He didn’t look up when Gon entered. He didn’t acknowledge the creaking door or the quiet footsteps that followed.

Gon stepped further into the room, his footsteps light against the polished wooden floor.

The air carried the faint scent of old parchment and ink, mingled with the subtle smokiness of the flickering candle nearby.

The Duke still hadn’t acknowledged his presence, his quill continuing its steady path across the parchment, the soft scratching filling the silence.

Unbothered, Gon walked right up to the desk and, without hesitation, plopped onto one of the chairs in front of it.

The cushioned seat let out a slight creak under his weight as he settled in, stretching his legs out slightly.

He leaned back, watching the Duke with mild curiosity, waiting to see if the man would finally look up.

The Duke finally looked up, his quill pausing mid-stroke.

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face at the sudden interruption.

His sharp eyes, dark with concentration, swept toward the figure seated before him.

But the tension in his expression eased the moment he saw who it was.

Recognizing Gon, his features softened, the rigid lines of his face relaxing ever so slightly.

"You asked to see me, Father," Gon said, his tone respectful yet casual as he sat comfortably in the chair.

"Yes," the Duke replied, his voice steady and composed. He studied Gon for a brief moment, his sharp gaze assessing him as if searching for any sign of weakness. "How are you now?"

"I’m good," Gon answered with a slight shrug, his expression relaxed.

He met his father’s gaze evenly, as if to prove he was fine, that he had recovered.

"It was an alarming thing, you slumping suddenly," the Duke said, his voice calm but firm. There was no outward display of concern, just a statement of fact, as if he were commenting on the weather or the state of his paperwork.

Gon held back a sigh, keeping his expression neutral.

Alarming enough for you not to visit me, he thought inwardly.

It wasn’t surprising, his father wasn’t the type to hover or fuss. Still, a part of him had expected something more, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

Instead of responding to the thought, he simply nodded, waiting for his father to continue.

"Thankfully, it was only the last fight remaining, or else it would have destabilized the entire tournament," the Duke continued, his tone measured, as if that was the most important part of the situation.

Of course, Gon mused inwardly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

He cares about the tournament so much. Not the fact that his son had collapsed, not the exhaustion or pain, just the tournament and the order of things.

"Next time, don’t push yourself so hard," the Duke said, his voice firm but composed. "It is embarrassing for you to reach your limit in front of the people you are to lead in the future, and especially in front of your fellow mages."

Gon held back a sigh, his fingers curling slightly against the armrest of the chair.

Of course, his father saw it that way, everything was about image, about control, about never showing weakness.

The Duke leaned back slightly, his gaze steady and unyielding. "An opponent fights differently if they fear you. And if they don’t," he continued, his tone carrying a quiet finality, "it’s better to be feared."